An overly bland and cozy life had made Ghost, who was not particularly clever to begin with, lower her guard.
Today, Mesa and Old Bill had hurried out early with the flock of sheep, saying they were going into the town to pay taxes and hand over some sheep, and they had told her to be careful at home by herself.
Having nothing to do, Ghost simply ran out to look for that black wolf. She still hadn't asked him all the things she wanted to, and it was all that fellow's fault for being such a coward.
When she arrived, the black wolf's hiding place had nothing left except a few chewed-through ropes and his discarded dirty rags.
The edible food, however, hadn't gone to waste at all.
Ghost was a little angry. Ungrateful wretch! Running off just like that.
She returned to Rotten Roots Farm feeling depressed, one moment angry at the black wolf for running about wildly despite his injuries because of his cowardice, and the next moment blaming herself for being too impulsive and careless.
By the time she snapped back to her senses, she realized the sky had already turned dark, and Old Bill and Mesa still hadn't returned.
Had something happened in town? Or were they ambushed and robbed on the road...
The more Ghost thought about it, the more worried she became. She tied up her hair, smeared some mud casually on her face, wrapped herself in a tattered cloak, and rushed toward the town.
Meanwhile, Old Bill and Mesa had actually finished paying the fees early on and driven the sheep into the lord's pen. Even though a few sheep had gone missing, paying the fine for the lost sheep should have settled the matter according to reason.
Who would have thought that the tax-recording clerk insisted the numbers didn't match. Old Bill was somewhat timid and kept quiet, but Mesa refused to let it go right then and there and started making a loud fuss.
Amidst the argument, the elderly couple was locked into a stinky shed used for keeping poultry.
The petty tax official hung a large padlock on the door, patted his bulging money pouch at his waist, and hummed a little tune as he prepared to go wine and dining...
Just past the street corner, he was pinned to the ground by a group of fierce-looking, blade-wielding thugs.
Roose Bolton walked up with a trace of disdain, stepping gingerly. He didn't want his soft, baby-deer-skin boots to get stained with disgusting mud.
He rarely came to this district, which was filled with scoundrels, whores, thieves, and the corpses of paupers. Even the dirt on the ground here exuded a poverty-stricken, foul stench.
"Lerrulf, you've been taking bribes again, haven't you?"
"What crimes did these commoners commit?"
The clerk's eyes darted around erratically; one could tell at a glance that he was hatching some crooked idea. "Young Master Roose, there is nothing worthy of your attention. They simply didn't pay enough taxes."
The retainer beside him stretched out a foot and slowly began to grind his heel down onto the clerk's ten fingers...
Before he even applied full pressure, it scared the clerk into screaming wildly and confessing: "It's Harley Snow! I took Harley's money! I was supposed to lock these two mud-chewing old fogies up for two days."
Just locking them up for two days? That certainly fit the weak character of that bastard.
Roose's informants were spread all over the domain, and he had always wanted to catch Harley's tail. Unfortunately, Harley was not only skilled at hunting, but also shrewd and cautious, rarely staying long in the town. Clearly, he had some other hiding place.
Yet why would he bother having two crude peasants specially locked up? Could it be a feint meant to confuse him?
No, that wasn't it.
Roose thought to himself: the hundred-man hunt was less than two weeks away. If he didn't persuade Old Bolton by then, he would never find another opportunity to ambush him.
Mind you, even when he went to the latrine, he had several bodyguards waiting outside.
What kind of person was this meant to lure out? And what on earth did it have to do with these two peasants...?
As he was deep in thought, a subordinate hurried over: "Young Master Roose, a strange kid was asking around town about Old Bill and his wife just a moment ago."
"Originally the brothers wanted to catch him, but he exchanged a few words with another brat and then bolted out of the city in a hurry."
Roose turned his gaze to the clerk kneeling on the ground. Without waiting for a question, the clerk blurted out, "I really don't know anything! Harley just told me to lock them up for two days and didn't say anything else. Young Master Roose, everything I'm saying is true!"
Roose gave a look, and his fierce subordinate interrogated: "Has anything new happened in Old Bill's family recently? Spit it out honestly."
"Th-their family seems to have picked up a brat. I heard it looks like some little aristocrat they took in and adopted."
Roose pondered for a moment, then decisively vaulted onto his horse and gave the order: "We'll follow them first. Call a few more men, bring crossbows and hounds, and catch up."
"Young Master Roose, what about these two old fogies...?"
"Bring them along too." They might come in handy.
Besides, he knew how to find Harley now.
Ghost had no idea what kind of crisis was lurking behind her.
Much less did she expect to become the critical pivot in the power struggle and bloodshed between the Bolton family heir and the bastard.
At the mere thought that Mesa and the others might be in danger, Ghost wished she could fly to their side.
Yet, to conserve her stamina and for the sake of her own safety, she did not transform into her wolf form. Instead, she simply snatched a horse outside the city and galloped all the way west.
Earlier, when she was inquiring everywhere in the city about the whereabouts of Old Bill and Mesa, a small, filthy child had delivered a message to her: "An uncle told me to tell you—if you want to save them, go to the Pointed Forest by Long Lake."
Pointed Forest was right to the west of Rotten Roots Farm. Frightened that she wouldn't know the location, Harley had even left her a rough map via the dirty child.
Ghost's horse-riding experience was close to zero; in her past life, she had only ever been led around in circles by someone else. Just maintaining her balance so she wouldn't fall off was already difficult enough, and she couldn't get any speed going at all.
Fortunately, the horse was exceptionally well-behaved; no matter how wildly she pulled the reins, it didn't grow restless.
This speed... also made it easy for Roose Bolton and his men to catch up to her.
The hunting hounds were abnormally excited, flailing all four legs in a desperate chase, almost matching the speed of the horse. If not for the iron-bar muzzles they wore, they surely would have been barking to high heaven.
Roose, meanwhile, cautiously maintained his distance, trailing Ghost neither too far nor too close.
Ghost rode for a solid day and night, exhausted and starved, before finally reaching the cold and gloomy forest composed of countless towering giant trees.
There were some trails carved out by hunters weaving through the woods, and at the entrance stood a warning wooden sign.
*Giant bears roam ahead; please hunt in groups.*
On the bark of a large tree at the entrance, there was an obvious arrow carved with a knife. Ghost took a deep breath, her heart filled with worry and panic.
Who knew what traps were waiting for her ahead...
Tying her horse at the entrance, she stepped unevenly, treading forward along the path carved by the hunters. Every so often, she could see directional arrows slashed into the tree bark.
When she reached a small clearing, the arrows disappeared. For no apparent reason, Ghost felt a sense of danger lingering in that clearing. She stopped cautiously...
She glanced around, spotted a withered tree root, and picked it up to throw across.
Nothing happened...
Suddenly, a sneer came from overhead: "Rest assured, there are no traps."
Looking up, Harley Snow was sitting on a tree branch about 5 meters above, swinging one leg leisurely.
At this point, playing dumb was pointless. Ghost forced herself to look composed and calm, but the trembling in her voice as she spoke betrayed her emotions:
"Aunt Mesa, and Uncle Bill—where are they?"